Transposed
by Dessert Maniac
Summary: Nozomi is back, but, but, but—where does that leave Yuuko? You don't forget about Yuuko just because you finally-finally-finally have Nozomi, but you don't know what to do with two friends. And, with the resolution of your last regret, you are left with the question: who are you? [Mizore, 2nd person pov; post-season two, episode 4.]
1. On Yuuko Yoshikawa

**Transposed**

Nozomi lets you burrow into her side.

Her arm comes around your shoulders, playfully jostling you, and she stares up at the evening sky with a placid, relaxed smile.

Because you tilt your head upwards and to the side, basking in Nozomi's presence, there's a crick in your neck. It's a small price to pay, isn't it? To have Nozomi, at long last….

"I'm glad," Nozomi smiles, glances at you then back up at the sky. "I'm so glad, Mizore, that you had Yuuko by your side." Nozomi's hand cards through your hair, lulling you into closing your eyes, and Nozomi repeats, softer, "I'm glad she's your friend."

Oh, but… that's not quite true. Yuuko isn't your friend, you want to assure Nozomi.

But if she's not your friend, you know Nozomi will ask, then who is Yuuko to you?

Yuuko—she is—Yuuko is—is—she's—

A kind, patient stranger.

Yuuko is—not Nozomi.

The two of you might've been friends, but when Yuuko had approached you, you could hardly do more than gape and mumble one-word answers to Yuuko's questions; that friendly smile had dropped, her brows had furrowed, and then she'd sighed and smiled all over again.

The two of you might've been friends, once upon a time, but you were and are hopeless.

The two of you might've been friends, this year, but Yuuko was not and is not Nozomi.

Except—except—except: Yuuko _is_ Nozomi. Sort of. Not really. _Almost_ , not quite Nozomi.

Nozomi, transposed from alto to soprano, transposed from respectful reservation to generous affection, transposed from unattainable to well within reach.

A distorted version of Nozomi. A facsimile. An approximation. A—substitute?

"I regret a lot of things…." Nozomi shrugs in a motion that draws you closer to her. "At least, though, I know that you weren't alone."

You stare at your hands lying limply in your lap.

Transposed, transposed, _transposed_ until you could sort of pretend that you were… content to have Yuuko as the one needling you in the morning, the one wheedling promises out of you to hang out, the one peering over your shoulder during practice, and the one leaving you behind in favor of other friends.

Close enough.

Good enough.

Right?

"But I have to admit, I'm also glad you kept playing for me."

You drag your gaze upwards to find Nozomi staring at you. Her smile, you realize, has changed—well, of course it has. An eternity has passed since you found out she quit the club; surely this is not the same Nozomi you once knew.

You, however, remain the same as ever.

Antisocial, awkward, apathetic despite Yuuko's best efforts to change you (because if Nozomi couldn't change you, wouldn't stay for you, then you won't change, won't stay for anyone else—maybe, you think, you assume, you wonder).

The next, terrible question occurs to you: is Yuuko merely a placeholder?

If she is not your friend, not your muse, and only someone to temporarily stopper the hole in your heart, then does that not make you a terrible person?

"Nozomi," you murmur, your hands pulling your uniform skirt into tight fists.

"Hm?" Nozomi tilts her head, lightly resting on yours as you stare at your whitened knuckles; Yuuko would've exerted more pressure, you think. Yuuko would have cheerfully complained about you overthinking things. Yuuko would have—

"What does friendship mean, Nozomi?" you dare ask. You swallow, wondering if you really said that aloud. Maybe you _have_ changed, if _you_ are willing to ask such a question to _Nozomi_ , no matter your need to please Nozomi.

A moment of silence, then Nozomi exhales. "Friendship… is two people seeking each other's company outside of obligations."

Seeking each other's company outside of obligations.

You mull that over. Does it count if you wanted Yuuko's company but never actually said so? Does it count if sometimes you wanted Yuuko's company because you felt yourself missing Nozomi to the point of physical pain—is that an obligation? Does it count if you thought Yuuko was with you out of pity and you were with her out of loneliness?

It sounds like nothing but obligations.

"Friendship," Nozomi continues, stronger and sterner, her arm heavy around your shoulders, "is two people looking out for each other, and being a _good_ friend means _talking_ about things that affect both of you, not just making a decision by yourself."

You know Nozomi is referring to herself even though you're perfectly fine with the past as long as you have Nozomi with you in the present and future.

Does that make _you_ a bad friend to Nozomi?

"I like to think what we had was something more than friendship, though."

"More?" you echo. You can barely understand friendship and now there's _more_?

Nozomi angles her face down towards you. The light of a nearby lamppost tints her tentative expression a soft orange-yellow. Nozomi leans closer, closer—close enough for you to feel her breath on your lips when she whispers, "I'm sorry for leaving you, Mizore.

"Please, forgive me for abandoning you like that. And, if you can forgive me, do you think…." Nozomi retreats again, leaving you gaping up at her sheepish, hungry expression.

Hungry. Your heartbeat quickens in your chest for the first time since you found out Nozomi hadn't bothered to let you know she was quitting the band.

"Do you forgive me, Mizore?"

You nod, you stutter, "O-of course, yes-yes-yes, N-Nozomi," as one of your hands reaches out to grasp Nozomi's uniform shirt in the tips of your fingers.

"That easily?" Nozomi doesn't frown, but her tone is serious. Her right hand brushes your bangs out of your eyes unnecessarily.

"I'm glad you came back," you say. That's all that matters, really (and where does that leave Yuuko?).

Nozomi stares at you.

You have to glance away after a few seconds; your cheeks burn and your hands tangle themselves in your skirt again and Nozomi's arm around your shoulders is a furnace, a brand, a promise. Her gaze, on you, is… is…?

"Can I kiss you, Mizore?" Nozomi whispers, her breath tickling the side of your face but you almost don't notice that over the roar of your heartbeat in your ears.

Kiss?

And when your head creaks to face Nozomi, your eyes fall on her lips and—and—and—

You kiss her, she kisses you.

Your eyes slip shut. You cease to breathe.

This, you think, is _more_.

Her nose bumps into yours. Her arm pulls you closer, closer, closer so that you have to brace yourself against her. Blindly, your hands land on her waist.

Nozomi pulls away, and though you want to follow, your lungs remind you to take a breath of air before you faint. Nozomi's smile takes your breath away all over again.

The question tumbles out of you, "What are we?"

"Girlfriends," Nozomi answers, her cheeks red and her lips twitching upwards. "If you want."

Want?

"Yes." You nod once, twice, thrice.

"I'm glad," Nozomi repeats and rests back against the bench; this time, you rest your head on her shoulder. "You make me smile," Nozomi confesses. Her hand strokes your hair again.

This, this is why you play for Nozomi: you like making her smile, and she makes you smile, too.

And Yuuko?

You made Yuuko smile a lot, once she and you got over your severe introversion. That counts for something, surely, but not… not what you and Nozomi have. There's a difference between Nozomi and Yuuko that you hadn't known was important.

What you felt for Yuuko, what you had with Yuuko was—was—was—what you felt for, what you had with Nozomi, except—except, transposed.

Maybe that's the answer.

It was a different key signature, a different range, and an approximation.

Transpositions, you know, don't always sound as good as the original. No, it's more accurate to say that transpositions aren't _supposed_ to be exactly like the original—the mistake is in trying to force the new work to mirror precisely the old work.

That was your mistake.

You transposed your feelings for Nozomi into your best guess at friendship for Yuuko. So maybe, yes, Yuuko would have been your friend if you had just realized that Yuuko wasn't, didn't _need_ to be, Nozomi.

Had you stopped thinking about Nozomi-Nozomi-Nozomi, maybe you would have noticed that you like Yuuko perfectly well for Yuuko's sake, as a friend—as _your_ friend.

"Nozomi?"

"Yeah?" You reach up so that your nose brushes Nozomi's jaw; you revel in the shiver that goes through Nozomi at your touch.

"I'm glad I had Yuuko, too. Even though I was lonely and missed you a lot, it wasn't so bad when Yuuko was with me." Looking back, in retrospect, you can clearly see Yuuko's affection, genuine friendship for you.

Her hand pauses. Nozomi murmurs, "I think Yuuko would be happy to hear that."

The brushing resumes. Your eyes drift shut.

"I know. I'll tell her."

* * *

 **a/n:**

Part 1 of 2.

I was in love (I mean, I think I was in love) with someone unattainable, and right around the same time someone else liked me so I figured I'd give person C a chance but person C hated the idea of being second-best so they ended things after a week, lol. I wasn't hurt, and we're best friends to this day, but I felt bad about only having eyes for person B and I knew person C deserved a lot more than what I could give.

This isn't exactly that; this is more about Mizore learning to distinguish between friendship and romance. I also wanted to address Mizore's dependency on Nozomi, but I think I want to put that in a second part instead, with Yuuko.

Please review! Even a simple, "This was nice," works for me :)


	2. On Mizore Yoroizuka

**Transposed II**

Someone opens the clubroom door, but no footsteps indicate entrance.

It must be Yuuko—Yuuko, who is _your friend_ , you remind your stiffening spine and quickening heartbeat. You don't have anything to fear from Yuuko; she already knows who you are, she already knows, she knows and she's still your friend, okay?

"Ah." Natsuki's voice is half question, half statement, all sharp notes making your spine stiffen further because stranger-stranger-stranger.

Nozomi greets, "Good morning, Yuuko-san, Natsuki," and you inhale.

"Good morn—"

"—just passin' by—"

"—'we'? Speak for yourself!" Yuuko protests but doesn't say anything further when Nozomi starts laughing.

You like the sound of Nozomi's clear, easy laughter. Something between a giggle and a chuckle, so _fond_ it makes your cheeks hurt from the smile it elicits and your heart pound halfway out of your chest in breathless gratitude. Your shoulders relax almost without you noticing.

It's okay. Natsuki is to Nozomi what Yuuko was to you (but probably better); there's nothing to fear from Natsuki, either, despite not really knowing her.

"I was just on my way out, actually," Nozomi tells them once she catches her breath, to your disappointment. Her hand squeezes your shoulder as if reading your mind. "I don't want to distract our competing members from the Kansai competition any more than I already have."

Natsuki shushes the pointed scoff that escapes Yuuko.

Risking a glance upwards to Nozomi, you blink at the question in Nozomi's expression. _Are you okay?_ her furrowed brow asks. You blink again; she tilts her head towards the others.

Oh—your jaw is glued shut and your voice is smothered in your throat and your eyes skirt around Yuuko and Natsuki—Nozomi's asking about your, your, your social anxiety that is a constant crescendo and diminuendo.

Nozomi taps the open score in front of you. You drag your gaze to follow; she points to a new little note in the corner, in Nozomi's cursive: _I believe in you!_ Her hand squeezes your shoulder again, warm and reassuring.

"Seriously, though, weren't you going to practice with your _darlin'_ sempai outside today?"

Your gaze traces over the loops of Nozomi's handwriting.

"Actually," Yuuko declares, brave, "I want to talk to you, Mizore. Why don't you and Nozomi-san stand guard outside, Natsuki? We don't want the first and third years hating us more."

Natsuki retorts, " _I_ get along with 'em fine. _You_ would, too, if you'd just stop _antagonizing_ everyone."

"Sure," Nozomi intervenes before the argument escalates. "Come on, Natsuki, let's give them some privacy." She turns to face you, staring intently into your eyes, and though you want to say _please stay_ , you nod weakly.

You're not afraid of Yuuko.

The ridges of your oboe begin to dig into your calluses. Your heart jumps.

You're just, just a bit nervous. You haven't spoken to Yuuko since that day you broke down—your sternum aches with shame, embarrassment, humiliation.

But—but it's okay. Yuuko already knows, she knows, knows who you are and she's still your friend.

"Text me when you're free." You nod, lips twitching. Nozomi smiles, inclines her head at Yuuko, tosses a wave to you over her shoulder, and lets Natsuki close the clubroom doors.

Only then does your gaze skitter towards Yuuko, who stands alone in the middle of the room, her gaze inscrutable, on you.

This is a different key signature, a transposition—different, different to what you have with Nozomi, but not _unknown_. You simply need to be a little more cautious.

"Good morning," you whisper. That's a good, safe place to start, right?

Yuuko huffs, then, and strides over to you, muttering, "It shouldn't be this awkward."

Shouldn't—shouldn't, but you know too well that rationality cannot circumvent anxiety.

Watching her progress until you can't see her because she's directly behind you, you wonder if you should go straight to apologies or if you should wait for Yuuko to say what she wants to first or maybe something else that you've overlooked.

Nozomi would know what to do, wouldn't she? You wish she were here. To start, to initiate, to play the opening notes. Yuuko is a looming presence behind you, you can't decide if being unable to see her face is easier or worse, and who will count off the beat to begin?

Hands settle on your shoulders. She takes the decision out of your hands.

"Are you happy?"

It's asked as gently but still blunt as a trumpet, as Yuuko's trumpet can be. Of all the questions, of everything Yuuko could have said, she chose this.

Fidgeting with the ridges and keys of your oboe, you think: almost. Almost, almost, almost. See, you want to explain, your definition of "happy" is an _estimate_ based on what you've seen of others' definitions. A transposition, again, because you don't know if you have ever been truly at ease.

But, but, but _content_ is approximately happy. Its cadences carry you through your tired days.

Happy, you think, is when you are with Nozomi. You're with Nozomi now— _with_ , in more senses than one—so, "Yes."

"Really?"

That's not skepticism in Yuuko's voice. It's not doubt, either, in your ability to make decisions. It's not, it's not, it's not. It's a sharp note, a sharp note according to the reigning key signature; it's worry, worry _for you_ that colors Yuuko's question.

Your hands ache now. You have to blink away the sting of abrupt tears.

"I'm sure," you whisper. Anything louder than that and Yuuko might hear the waver in your voice.

"Mizore." Yuuko's hands squeeze your shoulders, setting them alight. "Be honest with me, Mizore, please."

"Why don't you believe me?" you snap, double sharp—no, triple sharp because this is the wrong key signature, your heartbeat stutters in your throat and it's hard to regulate your movements—why, why, why are you so upset about this?

Slipping her arms around your waist and nestling her chin against your hair, familiar, Yuuko mutters, "That's… not what I meant. Not like that, Mizore." Then, lower, almost-almost-almost whispered, "I'm scared, Mizore, that she'll swallow you whole."

A simple sentence.

It renders you speechless. As if you are not your own person, independent and existing outside of Nozomi and Yuuko.

But. Yuuko has a point, doesn't she? Weren't you a ghost before, and after, Nozomi? Didn't you borrow Yuuko's lungs to suffuse color and sound into your limbs and didn't your passionless oboe and colorless extremities reveal the lie?

Ghost-ghost-ghost.

Pianississimo, her hands tight on your shoulders, "Mizore?"

Who is Mizore without Nozomi?

Who is Mizore without Yuuko?

Flat. A series of flat notes, discordant, dull, without meaning other than a wordless keening plea for help.

Your stomach churns.

That's, that's, that's not who you are. Surely, surely, surely, "That's not true," you protest. Wavering.

You lived without Nozomi—before Yuuko, and before Nozomi, too. You lived. Maybe, maybe, yes, you were sad and lonely and adrift, but you lived. From weekend to weekend, across endless days and heavy nights, but you lived. Who lived through those times, if not you? You exist. Your existence might be, might be, might be lackluster, but—

It's yours.

 _I believe in you_ , Nozomi wrote on your sheet music; it's true, yes, it's true you need someone like her in your life to be able to come to life. It's true you look forward to waking up now because she is in your life, because band is no longer a chore, because breathing is so-so-so much easier now.

All that is true.

But you lived. Before. After. You managed. Inch by inch. Second by second. You were—learning, at a glacial pace, feeling out each note as you transposed.

You know a handful of things: you love Nozomi, you love Yuuko, and you can learn. You have been, but you are not, static. Oftentimes you need guidance. You can't deny your melancholic uncertainty as you muddled through your life.

You crane your neck, then, to regard Yuuko. She stares back at you, expectant. Waiting. Listening. You turn in your seat. Her hands loosen to let your shoulders shift, then tighten.

This doesn't-doesn't-doesn't mean you are and will forever be a failure.

You have to transpose, transpose, transpose until you find _your_ key signature, _your_ range, _your_ tempo. Nozomi's flute isn't Yuuko's trumpet isn't your oboe.

Haven't you gotten this far? You can, will, go further.

"Mizore?" Yuuko asks again, but her face softens into a tentative smile from something she sees in your expression.

"I'm myself. Who else can I be?"

"Only yourself," Yuuko agrees. Her hands drop from your shoulders. Her expression… is still troubled, still betrays some unease despite her smile.

Yuuko is your friend. There's nothing to fear from her, so you carefully set down your oboe to pull her into a hug. Your jaw tightens.

Her chin digs into your shoulder, your arms fumble around her, her hands sink into your sweater. You try to convey reassurance through your embrace, only…

There is more.

More you should say, explain, acknowledge.

You—are not blind, no. You are not blind; you just have-have-have a tendency. A tendency. To avoid. To hide. To feign ignorance until you begin to truly believe in the lie.

Which, which, which is your roundabout way of saying, saying that for all of your efforts to make good approximations, you know that sometimes—many times—you, you take the easy way out.

 _Take the easy way out_. As if that explains the entirety of your experiences. You felt sick, so _sick_ at the sound of Nozomi's flute. Does the pain you endured before finally breaking mean nothing? To imply that you give up from the onset is to lie; you wouldn't be a musician at all if you didn't have _some_ measure of persistence.

See? That, right there, is the problem. What you say doesn't always fully encompass what you mean to convey. To someone who does not live in your mind—Yuuko, Nozomi—well, of course they do not know what you know, what you intend to say.

For that, you have to verbalize your thoughts aloud.

Your throat clogs up. You gently disengage from Yuuko.

Remember, remember to take deep breaths.

Even so, your voice breaks when you say, "Yuuko." Your cheeks flush red.

"Mizore," she parrots, cocking an eyebrow at you, looking calmer already. Your eyes dart away, towards the door where Nozomi and Natsuki must be. Yuuko waits as patiently as ever.

You envy Yuuko's composure. Nozomi's, too, and that of everyone else around you (including the first years in band).

But _you_ , you have come this far. You can, and you will, go further. After all, both Yuuko and Nozomi have believed in you.

You can learn to believe in yourself—in time.

"I… I know you're worried, Yuuko." You pause, stop to take a deep breath, reiterate your determination to see this through. You drag your gaze back to Yuuko—obviously, you're not yet at the point where you can play the score by heart.

Frowning again, Yuuko says, "You see it, right? You know what I'm talking about.

"I just didn't want to say anything, not before, but this, this can't be healthy, Mizore. You've changed _because_ of her, not of your _own_ accord! I know—" Yuuko inhales deeply, and then, calando she continues, "I know you're yourself, Mizore, but you're _dependent_ on her."

"…And you," you point out through the blockade in your throat. Yuuko blinks, her expression simultaneously furious and gratified.

Nodding, Yuuko concedes.

"I know I am, but, Yuuko… I'm not like you." Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. "It takes me… longer… to… find my place. If we'd never reconciled, I would've gotten there… eventually.

"I promise, Yuuko. One day, I _will_ stand on my own."

When Yuuko hugs you this time, your entire being relaxes.

You live, are yourself, find happiness, and learn—

In your own way.

* * *

 **a/n:**

I'm blown away by everyone's support - so much so that I think I spent longer than I should have trying to make this perfect, haha. But it's alright; I'm very glad to see that so many found themselves reflected in the first chapter. I hope this second part wraps up the story well.

Shout out to Maaqss for leaving me an essay for a review! It really made my day :') And to everyone else, too, for their support! It means a lot to me.

Speaking of reviews, I swear I'll get around eventually to replying to them. I've just been so busy and scatterbrained and trying to keep myself afloat (it's been a long quarter) that I haven't had the energy yet.

Please do tell me if there are things you think I could've done better, or if you have questions, etc. I'm always up for some constructive criticism.


End file.
